"Motion is the Sign of Life"

By Dawn Raffel

Years ago, when I was a young woman, my father lived in a small fishing town north of Milwaukee. Downtown consisted of little more than a grocery store, dime store, and Dairy Queen, and since I hadn't grown up there, I didn't know anyone. To pass the time, I used to take hours-long solitary walks to the lakefront and out along a treacherous, slippery path of half-sunken rocks to a defunct lighthouse. Looking back toward shore, a church atop a hill commanded the otherwise empty skyline. Birds called and circled, and at night, the stars were astounding.

Recently, my kids and I went back to have a look at this little town. My dad passed away 25 years ago and the people who bought his house tore it down to build a giant garage. The previously serene lakefront is crowded with new multi-million dollar condos, and the jagged path to the lighthouse has been safely paved. You can have a drink at the lighthouse microbrewery or shop at the lighthouse gift shop, etc. Up the hill, that majestic church shares the skyline with new construction, and I imagine the stars have been obscured by electric lights.

Reminiscences of Swami Sridharananda Ji

By A Volunteer

Listening to Swami Sarvapriyanandaji’s reminiscence of Swami Sridharanandaji (Swamiji) evoked some memories from my brief yet memorable time in his presence during his visits to one of the Centers in USA.

Swamiji was extraordinarily down-to-earth. Despite being so well known, he never assumed any airs about himself. As Swami Sarvapriyanandaji beautifully noted in his lecture, Swamiji had the rare ability to make you feel as though he had known you for a long time—even when you were meeting him for the first time. What was even more remarkable was that you yourself began to feel that you had known him before. That sense of immediate, effortless connection was unmistakable.

One incident, which still remains vivid in my memory, speaks volumes about his humility. Swamiji was staying in the third-floor guest room across from the elevator. I was assigned to usher him to the dining hall. Elevator use being an infrequent one, I led him toward the staircase out of habit. He gently turned and said, in the most humble and apologetic tone possible, “My dear, my knees are not very good; I cannot walk down the stairs.” I am sure he was well aware of the elevator, yet he did not insist on taking it outright. Only after seeing the number of steps did he make that request—and that too with such a supplicating humility. It immediately filled me with shame, embarrassment, and awkwardness that a Swamiji had to speak to me in that manner. I apologized and promptly took him to the elevator. Though simple, this incident reveals how deeply connected Swamiji was with everyone around him — his instinctive adjustment to circumstances, his complete absence of self-importance, and the profound warmth conveyed through his characteristic address, “My dear,” which truly went straight to one’s heart.

Friendships Fall Off

By G. L. Krishna

We often underestimate the importance of intellectual compatibility in forging deep friendships. Having lost a couple of good friendships solely due to ideological divergences, I have pondered deeply on this topic. As a part of that, I have often tried to recall if there have been episodes, in the lives of great men, of ideological divergences leading to friendships falling off.

Vivekananda, as a young monk, had a raging appetite for scriptural scholarship.  His questions were sincere and his disagreements, severe. His quest for a genuine scholar took him to one Pramadadas Mitra of Varanasi. Pramadadas was a Sanskrit scholar of high renown. The young Vivekananda wrote numerous letters to him with a view to get his doubts clarified. While in Varanasi, the two of them spent several hours discussing scriptural topics. Their common interests made them close friends. In one his letters, Vivekananda thanks him profusely for his "broad, generous heart."